


!Salud!

by MrsEDarcy



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, References to Alcohol, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, references to mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsEDarcy/pseuds/MrsEDarcy
Summary: In the aftermath of Día de los Muertos, Héctor just wants to enjoy his reunion with his family. However, the emotional impact of the night reaches far beyond the sunrise for all parties involved.As four characters adjust to their new realities, old things take on new meanings.Héctor Rivera could not have found a person more surprised by his sudden distaste for alcohol than himself. Though he had never been an alcoholic, in both life and death Héctor had never been known to turn down a shot of tequila.





	!Salud!

Héctor Rivera could not have found a person more surprised by his sudden distaste for alcohol than himself. Though he had never been an alcoholic, in both life and death Héctor had never been known to turn down a shot of tequila.

Even after he learned that Ernesto had murdered him, he had put the methods used out of his mind. Miguel needed to go home and Héctor was experiencing the Final Death and as far as the Riveras were concerned, how Ernesto murdered Héctor was irrelevant. Imelda’s anger toward the man, rekindled as it had never been before, was more than enough to keep the conversation away from the dinner table. And Héctor, so insecure in his place with the family and in his relationship with his wife, never brought the subject up at all. So in a family where no one asked and Héctor never thought to offer up an explanation, it was hardly surprising that three months after Día de los Muertos Julio invited Héctor out for a drink. What did surprise Héctor was the immediate shiver that went through his spine when the bartender placed the shot glass in front of him.

The night had started off so well. There had been a strange distance between Héctor and his son-in-law that did not exist with any of the other family members. Unlike his former distance from Imelda, this distance did not feel angry just...awkward. As such, an invitation to drink was a marvelous breakthrough in Héctor’s mind. He and Julio would sit down with some tequila and chat about Coco until they were amigos están borrachos como una cuba.

Yet here he was, decidedly not drunk and definitely not bonding with his son-in-law.

Within moments of seeing the shot glass in front of him, Héctor’s body plummeted back to that cold night in a México City street. There were bodily sensations that he hadn't experienced in almost a century. He felt nauseous and sweaty, despite his lack of appropriate bodily organs. He could only vaguely feel Julio touch his shaking hands.

“¿Papá Héctor? ¿Papá Héctor?”

He's there, but he's also years away. A brother calls him amigo. He falls to his knees in the dirt. All that he can think of are his girls, his diosas. All he can hear is amigo.

“¿Papá Héctor? ¿Papá Héctor?” Julio breaks through the fog. Héctor looks down at his skeletal hands as if for the first time. “¿Está bien?”

Héctor can't speak, but he manages to slowly shake his head. He watches as Julio has the bartender take the shot glass away.

“Papá Héctor. You're having a panic attack.”

Héctor looked at him incredulously.

“It's kind of like,” Julio waffles a bit, “...having a nightmare while your awake.”

Nightmares, he was very familiar. The past 96 years they had been his most constant companions. There had been more than he would care to admit. Some foolish part of him thought that now his family had been restored to him they would cease.

They hadn't.

The dread that was building certainly reminded him of nightmares. Not the normal kind where you wake up with a start, but the bone chilling ones where fear builds as you are incapable of ending the dream. And the face of his nightmares was certainly the same. A man...a skeleton-no, a man. A man, a glass and “Amigo” on his lips.

Héctor eventually finds his voice and just keeps mumbling, “Lo siento. Lo siento. Lo siento.” He got up and started walking, his son-in-law trailing behind desperate to keep him calm. Getting out of the bar helps, but all he can see is a shot of tequila.

_Amigo. Amigo. Amigo_. The word taunts him. Julio grabs his arm gently- _a brother grasps him as he falls dead at his feet_ -and guides him towards the Rivera home. He doesn't remember arriving at the house. He doesn't hear the words exchanged. He only sees a toast and a shot of tequila. _Amigo. Amigo. Amigo._

Somewhere Ernesto laughs.

_¡Salud!_

* * *

Mamá Coco passes on a day after her namesake is born.

Everyone treated Miguel like he would break at any moment. He hadn't cried yet. Maybe he was in denial like Rosa said, but he couldn't bring himself to cry. He liked to imagine that somewhere in a land he would not see again for many years Héctor was crying enough for them both.

Miguel continues on. He sings for his baby sister and plays with Dante and talks to the new crowd trickling in to learn about Héctor. And he doesn't forget her, but he moves on.

On Miguel's birthday, his father pulls him said to tell him how proud he is of him. And he offers Miguel a chance to have a celebratory shot with him and Tío Berto. The first thing Miguel learned as a thirteen-year-old was the immense burn of tequila as it slid down a throat. Almost immediately he begins to cough and the customary _¡Salud!_ rings hollow in his ears.

He wonders for a brief moment if that's what it felt like. He imagines himself on a foreign street with someone who was supposed to be a friend and a pain in his throat like he never felt before. A pain like betrayal.

His father's face soured. “Mijo?”

It burned.

Miguel's coughs turned into sobs as he threw himself into his father's arms.

It's a month later the next time someone brings out a bottle of tequila. And Miguel was ready for another try. He had been practicing by holding mouthwash in his mouth for as long as possible until the burn became too much. He begged his dad to let him try it again, to prove that he was man enough to take it.

It burns before it even touches his tongue. Miguel finds himself heaving up the contents of his stomach in one of Abuelita’s plants. It burns even more on the way back up. Just when he think he has finished, he sees Papa Héctor lying on the floor in pain, suffering. He doesn't sleep that night. He ends up crying in his parents arms trying to explain what happened that fateful night. His family attributes it all to a nightmare.

It's Abuelita of all people who believes his story about how Héctor died. She had become oddly attached to the awkward, skinny 21 year old in the foto on her ofrenda. So she starts calling around México City asking people to find her “pobrecito abuelito” gone from the world when he was just “un niño estupido”. They find the body eventually. Dumped in a shallow grave that washed out a decade after burial, the identity of Héctor’s skeleton had been a mystery to many, but Miguel would know that face anywhere.

The body stays in the lab for months as they verify DNA and attempt to determine a cause of death. Héctor’s body arrives home on a bright September morning with a file that says he was definitely poisoned. Death was fairly quick, they concluded. But no one told Miguel if it burned. There was no tequila at Héctor's funeral. It didn't seem appropriate.

Miguel tucks a letter to his great-great-grandfather into the casket in hopes that it somehow gets to him. He doesn't ask about the death. He will have plenty of time for that in the far distant future. He simply lets him know that the burning can stop.

There is no tequila on the ofrenda that year.

* * *

Ernesto still had ofrendas. His guards made sure he knew that he did. While the amount of goods dwindled every year as more and more people began to believe he had murdered the now beloved songwriter Héctor Rivera, Ernesto still received more than most ever would. The guards would read off an itemized list of every offering received and redistributed elsewhere. All they ever left him with was a solitary shot of tequila.

There's always a fear about poison in his mind as he chokes it down.

When he asks if the dead can be poisoned, he only gets a laugh in response. It doesn't comfort him.

The tequila sits in the glass untouched. The guards never take a nip. He doesn't know. His alebrijes sniff at the shot glass curiously every year. He could let them taste it. He's thought about it.

Whenever he's gotten close to letting them, he sees his best friend convulsing on a dirt road. He remembers the murder in a way he hadn't in over 100 years. Ernesto doesn't feel sick to his stomach anymore. Ernesto hasn't felt anything in regards to the murder in a very long time.

The nightmares and shadows of Héctor had faded with time, with lack of exposure. By the time he had seen Héctor on that fateful Día de Muertos, it had been so many years he was almost unrecognizable. The murder had almost become a movie to him. He only ever thought about it in the terms of El Camino de la Casa. It's five years after being jailed that Ernesto realizes for the first time that in reality the hero died and the villain got away.

Héctor and Imelda come to visit. He looks healthier, though he shudders when he sees the shot glass in the corner of Ernesto’s cell. Imelda looks torn between holding Héctor’s hand and reaching through the bars to strangle Ernesto. There's no talking. The trio stare at each other in silence and Ernesto remembers the wedding day. He remembers the goofy grin on the groom’s face, he remembers catching a glimpse of the newlyweds crying together. He remembers signing as their witness.

Ernesto remembers ripping his best friend away from his wife. He remembers keeping him away. He remembers the final selfish act that kept Imelda from getting his best friend and leaving him all alone. When he looks through the bars, he realizes he's only alone because of what he did.

Every time he takes a new shot, Ernesto toasts _¡Salud!_ and he hopes to die.

* * *

“You think your death was quick? You died for 96 years Héctor! You didn't live again until Miguel and Coco saved you. Your dying didn't end when you got to the Land of the Dead. You continued to die every second and every hour and all we were doing was adding more poison to the glass!”

They've had the argument before. Imelda's too stubborn to stop.

Héctor won't let her take her anger out on Ernesto or herself. So, she takes it out on the tequila. Never a drop in her house. There's wine occasionally, maybe a beer, but never tequila. Not while her husband still feels the same way.

The doctor is new. He calls it PTSD. He says it can be managed, but it is not likely to ever be fully overcome. Héctor cries into his wife's shoulder and she vows to fix him.

She never will.

But life goes back to normal. She and Héctor make music. Her family laughs. Musicians can be shoemakers and shoemakers can be musicians. New generations arrive in the Land of the Dead. And Héctor gets stronger every passing year. Imelda isn't sure if she will be remembered as long as her husband will be. She has nightmares that she experiences the Final Death and leaves Héctor alone to face his demons. They take comfort in each other while they can.

They will never be the same, but they can be okay. 

* * *

One little boy will never be able to stop feeling the burning. He sings a song of betrayal for an audience who will never understand the pain in the back of his throat when he stands over his grandfather's grave.

One man will drink every ounce of tequila given to him in the hopes it will end his eternal punishment. He will never be able to escape and the tequila only drags him further down.

One couple had their happiness ripped away from them by an amigo, a cheap shot of tequila, and a hollow ¡Salud! They will never let each other go until the Final Death embraces them in the far off future.

* * *

In a hotel room in Mexico City a drunk musician smashes a shot glass to the floor where his friend stood only a day prior. He stares at the shattered remains and promises that Héctor's stuff will go to good use.

Before he passes out in his drunken stupor he looks at the shattered glass and toasts a final goodbye.

To the man burned in a shallow grave a mile away it rings hollow.

_!Salud!_

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I am a Spanish major, but don't speak it as a first language so my colloquialisms are possibly not accurate.
> 
> I wrote this because I was wondering what kind of impact the knowledge of the murder would have on the relationship between the characters of the movie and tequila.
> 
> The panic attack was written based on my own experiences, but I acknowledge it could be an inaccurate portrayal.
> 
> This also wasn't originally supposed to include Imelda, but she wormed her way right in.


End file.
